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PRIZE 



COMPOSITIONS, 



WRITTEN BY MEMBERS OF THE 



ALBANY FEMALE ACADEMY, 



BEAD AT ITS TWENTY-EIGHTH ANNIVERSARY, 



JVIiY 16, 1841. 



ALBANY : 

PUBLISHED BY ERASTUS H. PEASE, 82 STATE ST. 
1841. 



-^c;m^ 



PKIZE ESSAYS. 



SILENCE. 

BY MISS MARGARET ROBINSON, 

or XKW-YORK. 

Mysterious power, thy magic reign o'er countless worlds pre- 
sides, 
Far as the planets wheel their course, or roll the distant tides; 
Earth, Ocean, Heaven, alike thy sphere, no limit to thy sway ; 
The restless sea, and warring wind, thy secret power obey. 

Before the morning stars were formed, that deck yon azure sky, 
Or mountains reared, in lofty pride, their towering summits 

high ; 
Before the chambers of the east with gorgeous folds were hung, 
Or echoing back to angel harps its vaulted arches rung, 

Silence was there — on all around its holy influence fell, 
And Nature owned throughout her works, the magic of the 

spell ; 
The angels, robed with radiant light, in quiet beauty shone ; 
And silence was the unmeasured praise they gave to God 

alone. 

The earth a boding stillness keeps, when the tempest gathers 

round — 
A pulseless silence, far more dread than e'en the tempest's 

sound; 
When turns the wing of the forest bird, affrighted to her nest, 
And the heart of the mother to the babe that's cradled on her 

breast. 



4 

When tempests howl along the setis, and angry billows roar's 
And the vexed waters lash in rage, the deep resounding shore 5 
And high above the deaf'ning blast, the thunder peal is given, 
Like Sinai's trumpet long and loud, that shook the gates of 
Heaven ; 

Then, everlasting Silence reigns, deep, deep beneath those 
waves; 

The noise of waters never comes within their coral caves ; 

The mermaids deck their flowing locks, with gems like morn- 
ing dew. 

And flowers unfold their petals, bright, with all the rainbow's 
hue. 

When worn with toil and wasting care, the mind in frenzy burns^ 
To Silence, as a refuge safe, in hope and trust it turns ; 
And on the soul its influence falls, like dew on Hermon's mount, 
More grateful than the cooling rill from Horeb's gushing fount. 

In silence speaks the feeling deep, that Words may not impart j 
And Silence is the untutored voice that tells a broken heart : 
It tells of sorrow far too deep to reach the speaking eye — 
A settled gloom that asks for rest — but not beneath the sky. 

When rapture fills the trusting heart, as rain drops fill the rose, 
'Till bending 'neath the treasured wealth, its petalled cup 

o'erflows ; 
Vain, vain are words to speak the bliss ; but breast to breast 

allied. 
Pours forth, in tears of silent joy, the soul's o'erburthened tide. 

The spirit communes vsrith its God, when the passions all are 

still. 
And restless thoughts are slumbering, like mist upon the hill . 
The free soul pours its incense forth, of gratitude and praise. 
For loved ones clust'ring round the board, for health and 

length of days. 

******** 

And when the prophet of the Lord by Horeb's mountain stood, 
Faint with the perils of the way, by vengeful foes pursued, 



Listening to hear the voice of God, his onward steps to guide, 
Where danger lurked on every hand, and death on every side j 

Then, lo ! a mighty wind passed by, and rent the mountain 

top — 
And from its firm foundation deep it broke the solid rock ; 
But in the wind no voice was heard to greet his list'ning ear, 
And terror crept along his veins, and in his bosom, fear. 

Then came the earthquake, but not yet his Maker's voice was 

heard ; 
And fire passed by^ but not in fire was yet the welcome word ; 
But when the tumult all was o'er, and naught but silence near, 
The " still small voice," in accents mild, fell on his list'ning 

ear : 

And Silence reigned in Heaven above — no sound nor voice 

was heard ; 
No murm'ring note of rapturous joy the holy quiet stirred : 
From angel harp, or seraph lute, breathed not the lightest tone. 
While white-robed bands of angel forms stood circling round 

the throne. 

With heads bowed down in silence low, and pinions closely 
prest, 

All bright and blissful in repose, and glorious in their rest : 

'Twas the peace of God in stillness felt, pure, holy and in- 
tense — 

*Twas the joy of spirits purified, unmixed vnih aught of senses 
******** 

And when this earth shall pass away, and the heavens are no 

more — 
When darkness broods where sun and moon had shed their 

light before — 
When nature's voice is hushed in death — then, in her pride 

again, 
Triumphant o'er the chaos wide, shall deathless Silence reign ! 



BY MISS CATHARINE C. ABEEL, 



OK ALBION, Oa:.EAN3 CO. 



PARALLELE ENTRE CORNEILLE ET 
RACINE. 

Tous ceux qui out du gout et de la deiicatesse iie peuvent 
manquer d'etre interesses et d'avoir leurs idees du beau et du 
sublime singulierement augmentees en lisant Corneille et 
Racine, deux des plus celebres ecrivains draraatiques qui 
aient jamais vecu, et dont les ceuvres ont si justement excite 
une admiration universelle. Ces deux grands hommes, qui 
ecriverent a des epoques differentes, ont eu autrefois et ont 
maintenant leurs amis, leurs partisans, et leurs critiques. Ce- 
pendant tout le monde s'accorde a dire que, quoique leurs beau- 
tes soient d'un genre tout diiferent, chacun est incomparable 
dans ses oeuvres. Nos emotions en les lisant different beau- 
coup. Les tragedies de Corneille font eprouver non seule- 
ment du plaisir, mais aussi une elevation de sentiments qui 
arrive au plus haut degre. On s'etonne que les caracteres 
soient si grands, et les sentiments si Aleves. On s'imagine 
entendre parler, non des hommes, mais des demi-deux. Au 
contraire, en lisant celles de Racine, nous nous livrons insen- 
siblement a nos emotions ; et a mesure que nous lisons nous 
sommes excites et emus, nous essayons a voir tous les evene- 
mens qu'il decrit se passer devant nos yeux, tant ses tableaux 
sont vraisemblables. 

Be la, nous commen^ons naturellement a examiner la 
cause de cette difference dans nos emotions ; enfin, nous ar- 
rivons a la conclusion que I'un de ces grands hommes a peint 
la nature et les passions comme elles sont, et que I'autre, sui- 



vant son geni-e noble et elove, nous a menes au dessus des 
faiblesses de ce monde, et a represente las homnies parfaits, 
doues des sentiments plus nobles que les notres, et exempts 
de ces passions violentes qui sont le partage des humains, 
C'est pour celte raison que les ouvrages de Corneille nous in- 
teressent moins que ceux de Eacine, ou la nature est decrite 
dans toute la simplicite, ou le cosur est demasque, et ou toutes 
les nuances delicates de la sensibilite et de la passion sont 
peintes avec une addresse si exquise que le lecteur tressaille 
insensiblement. En lisant les caracteres qu'il a decrits avec 
tant de force, specialement ceux d'Hermione et de Phedre ou 
les labyrinthes compliques du coeur sont exposes a la vue, et 
ou les passions son peintes avec des couleurs aussi vives que 
vrais, nous sommes forces d'avouer que Eacine, Eacine seul a 
compris les mouvemens sans nombre du coeur humain. C'est 
pour cette cause aussi que les emotions que nous eprouvons en 
lisant les ouvrages de Corneille tiennent plus au sublime qu'au 
beau; on admire les caracteres qu'il decrit, et les sentiments 
qu'il peint nous transportent, mais ils ne nous emeuvent pas 
comme ceux de Eacine. Par exemple, le noble devouement 
des Horaces, la vertu stoique de vieux pere de ces heros, et 
I'amour du pays qui excite un frere a immoler sa soeur, pro- 
duisent en nous des emotions qui tiennent au terrible plus 
qu'au sublime. Nous ne pouvons concevoir cette vertu fa- 
rouche, qui sacrifice a son pays les liens les plus doux et les 
plus sacres qu'il y ait sur la terre. En lisant ces caracteres 
nous sommes forces de nous eerier: Eacine a peint, il est 
vrai, de grand es passions, mais Corneille a peint de grands 
caracteres. 

Bien des gens ont attribue cette difference entre le style de 
ces deux autres aux circonstances dans lesquelles ils furent 
places. Corneille ecrivait ses tragedies sous le regne ora- 
geux du ministre de Eichelieu, et Eacine sous le regne plus 
heureuse de Louis Quatorze. Ceci peut sans doute avoir con- 
tribue a produire une difference entre leur style. D'ailleurs, 
Corneille avait naturellement un esprit tres fort, un imagina- 
tion elevee, et la force et la grandeur dominent dans ses tra- 
gedies. II etat comme seul dans son art ; il n'avait point de 



8 

censeurs, car son genie le porta au dessus de tous ses contem- 
porains et consequemment au dessus de leurs critiques. 

Racine etait ne avec une imagination vive, et avec toutes 
ces qualites si necessaires pour former un ecrivain tragique ; 
il ecrivait ses pieces a I'epoque la plus polie du monde, et il 
avait pour contemporains des intelligences du premier ordre. 
Andromaque est son premier chef-d'oeuvre, et dans celui-la il 
egale les plus beaux ouvrages de Corneille. II ecrivit ensuite 
Iphigenie, Phedre et Athalie ; et quelle beaute, quelle har- 
monie de versification, quelle purete de diction, on trouve 
partout dans ces pieces ! On ne peut rien aj outer ni rien 
changer sans nuire a cette beaute de style qui est a lui seul. 
Racine est le premier qui ait bien peint I'amour sur le theatre 
Fran^ais, et il le montre dans toute sa fureur dans Hermione 
et dans Phedre. Je pense que cette passion, dans les trage- 
dies de Corneille, est trop froide pour etre naturelle. 

II me semble qu'il y a plus de force dans le style de Cor- 
neille, et plus d'elegance dans celui de Racine ; qu'il y a 
plus de vigueur dans les expressions de celui-la, et que celles 
de Racine sont plus ornees. 

Le style de Racine est fait pour produire la pitie et la ter- 
reur, celui de Corneille pour produire la sublimite ; consequem- 
ment I'effet des pieces de celui-ci est moins touchant et 
moins attendrissant que I'efFet des pieces de celui-la. Racine 
fait verser des larmes, Corneille excite des transports ; Racine 
interesse toujours le lecteur, mais Corneille devient quelque- 
fois trop froid pour y reussir. Cependant il y a des choses 
plus belles dans Corneille que dans Racine, et il y a souvent 
plus d'elevation dans les sentimens. 

Corneille a bien peint les mceurs et les vertus des Remains 
dans les Horaces, et la peinture des juifs dans I'Athalie de 
Racine ne peut etre surpassee; cette tragedie me plait beau- 
coup, quoiqu'il n'y ait ni amour ni intrigue ; le langue en est 
si beau ! 

Soit que mon gout penche plus vers I'elegance que vers la 
sublimite, soit que j'aime mieux etre emue et attendrie qu'e- 
tonnee et maitrisee, les tragedies de Racine me plaisent plus 
que celles de Corneille. 



^t» ^v(?e (JTomposftfoit of ttje #frst iBepartjnent. 

BY MISS JENNETTE M. HALL, 

OF OWEGO, TIOGA CO. 



THE MYSTERIES OF BEING. 

Man is wonderful ! visible I and invisible ! mortal ! and 
immortal ! Dust of the earth ! breath of heaven ! The mas- 
ter work of Deity. Upon him is the impress of the Eternal, 
and about him are wrapped transcendent mysteries. Who 
can comprehend or explore his commingled natuie ? He is 
endowed with faculties with which he can reveal the hidden 
things of earth, soar amid the splendors of the starry heaven, 
number its brilliant throng, and measure their greatness as he 
passes on through the infinite universe. — But when he returns 
to himself, he finds that all his powers are unable to fathom 
the depth of his own being. As he looks upon his physical 
frame, which is so curiously, exquisitely formed, and contem- 
plates its complex and delicate arraifigements, iis intricate com- 
binations, and harmonious movements, he is filled with admi- 
ration and astonishment ; but hid from him are the causes of 
its muscular action. He cannot trace its chemical changes, or 
discover the mysterious fluid or principle by which the nerves 
transmit intelligence. Unknown to him is the origin of that 
genial heat which warms ami animates his frame, and con- 
cealed from him are the secret sources of life. Eut this is only 
the beginning of mystery. Connected with his organized body 
is something which he feels is self. It thinks, reasons, and 
wills ; he calls it soul ; but what is it ? He can gain no knowl- 
edge of it from his senses, by its operations he may become 
familiar with some of its powers and susceptibilities. But 
when he asks what it is, there is no answer save its silent as- 
pirations. 



10 

To remove the clouds of obscurity which surround it, has en-' 
gaged the noblest intellects, and called forth their strongest 
energies; but after having exhausted all their powers, they 
have been obliged to acknowledge their inability to accomplish 
their purpose. 

Its nature is not only veiled in mystery, but many of its op-* 
erations. It gains its ideas by the assistance of the senses* 
but by what means the senses convey intelligence to the mind, 
to man is unknovv-n. It is effected by agents so subtle that 
even his consciousness cannot detect them. 

Neither can he descend through the deep and mystic course 
which leads to the fount from which issue thoughts with all 
their new and varied beauty. It is far too deep to be revealed 
to mortal vision. 

And beyond his reach is that wondrous reservoir which re-" 
ceives the mighty tide of thought. He feels that it exists, he 
has given it a name, but who knows, or vi^ho can describe it ? 
Within it are treasured all the impressions and fond imagin- 
ings of years that are past. Still he is not conscious of their 
presence, or even existence, until they are brought from their 
secret retreat. Sometimes they come forth unbidden, some^ 
times in obedience to the mandates of the will, at others all 
the energies of the soul might be wasted in futile efforts to call 
them from their mysterious depths. 

Scenes and emotions which have long since passed away, 
by conception may be recalled with a vividness that almost 
equals reality. Is it not wonderful, that when surrounded by 
darkness, or when the eye has ceased to perform its office, 
man may yet enjoy the beauties of nature, and be cheered by 
the countenances of those most dear ? 

But still more wonderful is his power of imagination. With 
it he can wander through fields of light and beauty — roam 
through the pearly caves of the deep blue sea, form worlds, 
people them with fair and holy beings, and live in the new and 
varied scenes of his own creation. 

The mysteries of Reason, that noble faculty which distin* 
guishes man from the lower orders of creation, are inscrutable. 
Although by it he is prepared to investigate truth-— to discov* 



11 

er the relations which objects and facts sustain to each other 
— to explore the dark future, and to read in the boundless fields 
of nature the character of God — yet, he is unable to trace its 
own operations. And notwithstanding it is a part of himself, 
and its movements are his own, still he cannot describe them ; 
they are unknown to him. 

And no less mysterious is the Will. It is the imperial mon- 
arch of man ; and guides each thought, each word and act. 
Its slightest influences, as well as its most imperious dictates, 
are felt and obeyed. In it lies man's power. It is this which 
gives him dignity and nobleness : it is this which shall decide 
his eternal destiny. But how it performs its acts or communi- 
cates its mandates, is beyond his investigation. 

What can be more wonderful than the Passions ; the mystic 
movers of man ? Like the elements, some of them burst forth 
in raging tempests ; others come like the soft evening breeze. 
But there are times when they are hushed, and sleep like an 
infant on its fond mother's breast ; and when lulled to repose 
like spirits of air, they then are unseen. Vast are the chan- 
ges they effect. One moment he may be like an angel of 
mercy ; the next, like a demon of darkness. When his heart 
is warmed with affection, and he seems all kindness and gen- 
tleness, a word, or even a look, may arouse convulsive anger ; 
and, trembling with rage, he is ready for cruelties the most 
atrocious. To-day he may be noble and courageous : to-mor- 
row, base and cowardly : at one time he may be indifferent to 
everything ; at another, awake to all beauty and harmony. 
What an amazmg combination ! though differing so widely, 
they join to make one perfect Avhole. 

Man is a wonderful being ! He has a moral nature, which 
enables him to distinguish between right and wrong. He is 
surrounded by temptations to sin, but this is his unerring guide 
to truth. As virtue to him is attainable, this points him to 
objects worthy of his noble endowments. It restrains his 
grosser passions, illumines the pathway to another world, and 
raises the heart, with grateful emotions, to the Source of all 
good. 

In mysterious whispers the soul speaks its own imperisha- 



12 

bility, and no one who will listen to the gentle but convincing 
voice within its secret depths, can doubt his immortality. 

But man, this noble and unrivaled specimen of the work- 
manship of God, must die! Yes! "He comelh forth like a 
flower and is cut down : he fleeth like a shadow and continu- 
eth not;" but whea the heavens are no more he shall awake 
from his sleep, and having the impress of immortality, he shall 
remain as long as eternity its endless round pursues, or He 
who knows no beginning shall exist. To live is strange! but 
to die and yet live is amazing ! 

The influence that mind exerts over mind is wonderful. It 
lights the eye with the deep glow of feeling, and paints upon 
the countenance the delicate and almost imperceptible shades 
of thought, and transmits the passion-spark from soul to soul, 
awakening deep thoughts in their inmost recesses. 

But still more Avonderful does man appear when we contem- 
plate his mighty mysterious spirit, clothed in its own eternity, 
giving the seal of immortality to the myriads of its thoughts. 

In view of his power and greatness, he is wonderful. He 
can ride proud and free upon the tempest-lashed ocean, play 
with the forked lightning, and on the wings of thought explore 
creation's wide domain. He is the ruler of every being on the 
footstool of Deity, the uniting link between heaven and earth. 
And when by sin he lost his primeval holiness, even the Migh- 
ty One, he who weighs the mountains in a balance and the 
hills in a scale, left his eternal throne, and clothed with mor- 
tality, yielded himself to the monster death, that he might be- 
come his redeemer. 

A spirit created in the twinkling of an eye ! he is capable 
of infinite improvement, and as he floats down upon the bosom 
of eternity, his faculties will continue to expand, his feelings 
to glow with more intensity, his moral powers approach near- 
er perfection, and his devotions increase in purity and holiness. 

Man appears wonderful when we consider the relations he 
sustains to his God. Created in the image of his Maker, re- 
flecting his glorious attributes, gifted with faculties capable 
of enjoying his presence, and of becoming his heir, he re- 
mains a living monument of the omnipotence of the eternal. 



13 

A contemplation of man, his noble aspirations, and the sub- 
limity of life, seems to renovate and ennoble the mind, to ex- 
alt and almost entrance the thinker. 

Yes I man is wonderful I Endowed with faculties with 
which he can investigate the laws and explain the phenomena 
of the world around him, and still is unable to penetrate the 
veil of mystery in which he himself is enveloped. He is a 
mighty and glorious emanation from God, standing between 
two eternities with infinity around him, in majesty sublime. 



BY MISS CAROLINE A. WHITE, 

OF ALBAin', N. Y. 

THE BENEVOLENCE OF GOD NOT FULLY 
DEMONSTRATED WITHOUT THE AID 
OF REVELATION. 

Both the visible and the invisible world conclusively prove 
the existence of a designing and ruling power. In all v^^e see, 
or hear — above, beneath, or around us — there breathes the 
spirit of God. The universe is replete with evidences of his 
existence. An eye that will see, can trace the hand of an in- 
telligent Creator in all greeting the vision, from the flowrets' 
beautiful petals to the brilliant stars of heaven. An ear that 
will hear, can learn in every tone, from the whisper of zephyr 
to the rolling thunder, that there exists a Deity. The orbs 
which move in rich harmony through ethereal space, the ex- 
quisite constitution of animate and inanimate creation, the 
wondrous mechanism of our physical natxires, and the glorious 
powers of our deathless minds, emanated from naught save 
Divinity. 

The existence of Deity once fully demonstrated, the mind 
naturally invests him with attributes. Revelation clothes him 
with omnipotence, omniscience, wisdom, eternity and benevo- 
lence. Natural theology likewise recognizes in him an Eter- 
nal Being of infinite power, knowledge and wisdom. But 
does it recog7iize the fullness of his love ? Had revelation ne- 
ver irradiated earth with its celestial beams, would man con- 
clude from the natural and moral government of the Vv^orld that 
infinite benevolence was possessed by God ? 



15 

It is difficult for us to divest ourselves of our belief in the 
goodness of Deity — a belief derived from the precious revelation 
of his being and attributes given us by himself; difficult, be- 
cause the truths contained in that revelation have been in- 
stilled into our minds from earliest infancy. But liad it ne- 
ver been given to us, and were naught known of the moral 
character of the Creator save that which nature teaches, 
would we conclude that our God is a God of love, as infinite 
in benevolence as he is in wisdom and power ? 

Let one possessed of a mighty intellect, whose powers have 
been unfolded to their utmost extent, seek from the light of 
nature only the fullness of divine benevolence. Let him gaze 
on the varied and rich domain of nature. The earth is radi- 
ant with beauty, and as the manifestations of infinite power 
and wisdom every where greet his vision, his mind is elevat- 
ed and expanded, and he feels that He who made this world 
is infinite in his perfections. But while gazing on its beau- 
ties, while its fascinations are thrilling his soul with purest 
joy, the howl of the death-seeking hurricane is heard, roaring 
in wild fury over land and sea, seeking for objects on which 
to spend its wrath. How unsparing, how merciless that storm 
breath! It lays low the noble heritage of the rich man and 
the humble dwelling of the tenant. The dumb beast of the 
field it spares not, and even proud man bows in the dust in 
fear of its wild anger. Turn to the ocean and view its deso- 
lations. An hour ago and that now dismantled ship strug- 
gling so wildly and fiercely with the raging tempests, swept 
the main with pride and majesty, proud queen of the crested 
wave. She bore a rich and happy burden. Oh! many a joy- 
ous heart was there throbbing in wild delight, in fond antici- 
pation of their hopes' fruition ; for in a few short days a na- 
tive land should greet them and dear friends bid them wel- 
come. An hour I how changed their hopes, their feelings! 
The anguish of despair is depicted on every brow. Their 
deep, unutterable agony none may describe. Death beneath 
the ocean seems the inevitable doom. Where now is the 
hand that can quell the angry billows, the Voice that can say 
to the winds and waves, " peace, be still ?" But hark ! heard 



16 

ye that fearful crash? That vessel, laden with foreign trea^ 
sure, with its rich burden of animated and glowing forms, 
with wealth of affection and power of intellect that none can 
estimate, lies buried deep in ocean's caverns. And not once 
alone in the lapse of centuries does a proud vessel with its 
lofty and noble treasures sink to rise no more. But oft are 
our ears pained and our hearts thrilled with such mournful in- 
telligence. 

From earliest ages there has been that in nature which has 
caused the frame to tremble and the spirit to bow in fear. 
Those two proud and noble cities whose marble collonades 
and gilded domes were wont to sparkle in the morning sun — 
where are they now ? History records a day when they were 
rich in splendor and magnificence, when joy and gladness had 
spread their v/ings over their towering battlements. While 
yet the dark cloud of their destiny brooded ominous from 
above them^ sounds of mirth and revelry resounded — the gay 
repartee dwelt on the lip — the eye sparkled and the heart 
throbbed with pleasure. The power of intellect grasped the 
truth of science, the mind of a Pliny there was engaged in 
mighty speculations. Another morn dawned on them. Where 
are those architectural boasts, where those pillared halls, those 
breathing forms^ those mighty intellects? A cloud of dense, 
sulphuric vapor is above, a mass of burning lava rolls be* 
neath. Herculaneum and Pompeii, in the zenith of pride and 
glory, have passed away. There was no shield to interpose 
between them and the scorching blast of mad Vesuvius; 
there was no voice to bid the burning stream rush in some 
other channel ; but all, the rich, the poor^ the taught and un- 
taught, the innocent and the guilty, are enveloped in one 
smoking shroud. 

Again the foundations of the earth are convulsed^ the 
mio"hty granite rock is riven, a chasm yawns in rage and clo- 
ses not till devastation and ruin have been wrought and scarce 
a trace of existence left behind. And though that mighty 
mind should view no more of nature's ravages, would he not 
have learned to fear and distrust her ? Does he not find her 
very calm, deceitful ? — death brooding not more in her wintry 
blasts than in her summer zephyrs ? 



17 

Let him view the irrational portion of animate creation. 
Though from their very nature, sorrow cannot exert a power- 
ful influence over them, yet is it not sad to think that they 
must waste away and die ? That the dancing butterfly with 
its ethereal pinions, the insect tribes with their brilliant hues, 
our forest songsters, with their rich plumage must all die and 
return to dust. But there are nobler objects yet. View the 
being of mind and soul, the pride of creation. Man has 
mighty sorrows to contend with. Whether considered as a 
being of exquisite physical nature, of mighty intellectual pow- 
ers or one with immortal soul ; yet is he ever found affliction's 
chosen one. Gaze on our daily records. Peruse the morn- 
ing and evening chronicles. Is there not an appalling, thrill- 
ing list of woe delineated there? It is awful to think of the 
desolation of spirit, the anguish of soul brought daily to our 
ears. Oh ! they have truly said " the note of sorrow is the 
key note of humanity. They that strike it, strike a chord in 
every human breast." There is no situation, no rank or con- 
dition in life exempt from ills. The marble palaces of kings 
oft echo sighs of stern grief. In the lowl}^ walks of life, how 
much of wretchedness is found. There is sufliering amidst 
the virtuous poor which seraphs might mourn over. There 
are tales in the suburbs of every town which, if robed in the 
splendid drapery of poetic fiction, would melt the hardest heart 
and bring the tear of sympathy from every eye. 

In respect to man's physical constitution, the most skepti- 
cal must acknowledge that there are betrayed in it noble man- 
ifestations of divine skill and energy. The moulding and 
connection of the osseous system alone, would convince one 
that the impress of deity was there. But when to this there 
is joined a knowledge of the delicate combinations of muscle 
and tendon, the proper functions of the innumerable minute 
capillaries of the vascular and the slender filaments of the 
nervous systems; an acquaintance with the strangely consti- 
tuted heart ; with the arterial vessels conducting life from its 
great centre to the most distant and minute portion of the 
frame; with the veins returning the purple current to be so 
mysteriously renovated ; with the delicate convolutions and 

3 



18 

exquisite organization of the brain ; with the several Ai^^ondrdus 
mediums of communication with the external world : and 
with the constitution and fit use of all the organs so perfectly 
arranged and concealed beneath a delicate drapery which 
renders the human frame beautiful to look upon, none can or 
dare deny that it is the handiwork of the Almighty. Yet this 
wondrous constitution must be deranged and broken down. 
This beautiful temple is of perishable nature and must decay 
and fall low unto the dust. None can live three score and 
ten, without the sharp pain darting through the seat of life — 
languor and disease creeping over the frame ; weakening its 
energies and wasting its glories. Oft in the early dawn of 
life, the seeds of disease are implanted in the system, and 
though long years may be appointed for existence, they will 
be those of distress and pain. Oft must man in the pride and 
glory of his years, while fame and v^realth are wreathing their 
bright laurels around him, desert them all for the chamber of 
sickness, the bed of death. Disease now with rude hand, in 
a moment will prostrate the noble form, and again it will creep 
over it with consumption's stealthy pace, now lulling fear and 
awakening hope, then appalling the heart with its deep rava- 
ges. There are times when pestilence walks abroad, not 
alone as a midnight marauder, but even in the bright sun- 
shine ; whole provinces are made desolate, and the air far and 
near is tainted with its pestiferous influence. Every hour dis- 
ease greets us, the air we breathe wafts onward the seed of 
death, every thing imbibed, though it be for nourishment, 
contributes to decay — decay of that frame so beautifully and 
skilfully formed by the hand of Deity. 

Contemplate man's intellectual nature. There are noble 
minds on earth ; minds to whom is given the mysterious and 
godlike gift of genius. And have they not received what is 
best fitted to make happy an intellectual being ? Does not 
happiness in brightest radiance bend over those favored ones? 
Ah no ! misfortune is the lot of genius. Its sweetest strains 
are oft penned in utter desolation of spirit, and its brightest 
flashes extinguished by tears of anguish. Sorrow has ever 
lurked beneath that brilliant spell, and we cannot but acknow- 



19 

ledge it " a bright but fatal gift." There are minds on earth 
so delicately woven, so sweetly sensitive, as to seem ethereal 
in their nature. It is delightful to commune with them, for 
we seem as in the company of pure spirits. But sad is their 
lot in this world of ours. Few will sympathize with and ap- 
preciate their natures. Fit objects for angels' tears, they live 
in solitude of hope, in sadness and in woe. There are hearts 
crowded with rich aftection, breathing rare sweetness around. 
But oft do they wither and die under contumely and scorn. 
Life is made up of confidence. It is the sole reliance of an 
earthly being. But oft, when the whole faith has been re- 
posed in one alone, when the heart has poured forth its rich 
deep affection upon one loved object, the faith has been be- 
trayed and the heart left blighted and desolate. 

His Creator has bestowed on man a mind whose mighty 
energies, whose powerful capacities, no mortal can estimate, 
one thirsting for knowledge, desiring full development of fac- 
ulty, never satiated with its attainments ; a mind whose won- 
ders and mysteries Deity alone may reveal. Now when we 
contemplate one fit to soar beyond the clouds, one to whom 
the abstruse philosophers of earth are plain as sunlight, con- 
sumed by the wild flame of insanity ; the eye, wont to sparkle 
with intelligence, dilating to its utmost extent in the strange 
glare of madness, the artifices of idiocy entirely usurping the 
sway of reason, are not our souls thrilled Avith horror ? 

It is not once, nor thrice alone in memory of man that the 
maniac's wild and startling scream has rent the air, but so 
frequent is the wreck of mind, that every country, every pro- 
vince, has its asylum for the poor lunatic. 

Let every man contemplate, in the darkness of nature, a 
single situation in his own life; let him think of his own death 
scene. Knowing that he is a moral agent, with an immortal 
soul, I would ask him if, in the dark creed of nature, there is 
aught can reconcile benevolence with death, when the bonds 
that have held him in sweet communion Avith those he loves 
are to be rent asunder, when the cold dew is gathering on his 
brow, his eyes becoming glazed and fixed, his limbs refusing 
former offices, his pulse throbbing yet slower, and a strange 



20 

feeling at his heart telling him life is ebbing — where then 
shall he look for hope? He has the full consciousness of an 
immortal soul, but where shall that soul spend its immor- 
tality ? 

The mind may conceive of a heaven in which it may be 
perfectly and eternally happy. But is there proof of this suf- 
ficient for a dying man ? sufficient to satisfy the soul on its 
flight from earth? With a revelation, reasoning from analo- 
gy, we may find that in " the course of nature" which will 
satisfy the mind concerning a future state. But without it, 
where shall we find certain evidences that our hereafter will 
be suited to intellectual beings ? While glowing with life and 
animation, probable evidences may suffice ; but when death 
broods on our pillow, the mind is not contented with mere 
speculation. We must, while yet we hnow it cannot be so, 
hope that we shall sink into nothingness, or own we go, we 
know not where. If benevolence had watched over us in life, 
yet if it had not revealed the certainty of a heaven of bliss, 
the mind, far from resting on probabilities, would be harassed 
and agitated beyond all conception, and in maniac madness 
would rush — where ? where ? Ask ye of nature where ? She 
is silent — she knows not. But light is brightest in dark- 
ness. In the midst of the mind's confusion and agony, let 
revelation's glorious aid be given to man ; let earth be encir- 
cled with its halo of heavenly light ; vanished, vanished fore- 
ver are all doubts, all misgivings, as to the benevolence of 
Deity. 

Revelation distinctly, solemnly, gloriously asserts, " God is 
Love." Love blooming in brightest hour and fading not in 
that of desolation — love watching over us in life, standing by 
us in death, pointing to heaven's golden portals, unclosing 
them that we may enter and dwell with pure spirit forever. 
Love that has " Length without end, breadth without limit," 
higher than heaven, deeper than hell. Love that formed prim- 
eval man in purity and holiness — love that placed him where 
all conduced to happiness — love that when man had fallen 
from the elevated position originally assigned him, could send 
his only son as Mediator — send him from the loftiest seat in 



21 

heaven to the lowest on earth, from the companionship of se- 
raphims to that of degraded, erring mortals; love that when 
man had censured, reviled, and persecuted the holy Jesus, 
even unto death, and the shameful death of the cross, far from 
being extinguished, was ready in that hour, when but a sin- 
gle evidence of penitence was given, to send from heaven a 
holy influence upon man, that would prepare him to spend 
with God a blessed eternity. Let man learn the fullness of 
His love from revelation — then where was darkness, will be 
light; where sorrow, joy; when, was utter uncertainty as to 
a hereafter, will be the blessed assurance of an immortality in 
the divine presence. Oh it is a holy, blessed light, the light 
of revelation. 

Though there is that in nature which would confound the 
wisest philosophers, though there is that incomprehensibility 
in death which man can never fathom ; yet they disturb us 
not ; they weary not our souls, for we know and feel that our 
God is infinite in goodness, though his ways are oft inscruta- 
ble. How many a sinner has been impeded in his mad ca- 
reer by the agonizing knowledge that one in the same stages 
of crime has been swallowed up by the angry billows, without 
a moment of reflection. What though our destiny be dark, 
what though sorrow has ever saddened our hearts, it is un- 
grateful for us to murmur — this is but our short probation, 
but the traveller's resting place in view of his father's man- 
sion. 

Revelation whispers, too, that it is good to be afliicted. God 
has said " blessed are they that mourn." " Affliction is no 
child of earth," but she has been sent from heaven to purify 
our gross natures. How oft is genius led to bow at the shrine 
of the Deity, and its powers rendered still more exalted by the 
suffering which seems its necessary attendant. How oft does 
the rudeness of earth render the sensitive mind still more ethe- 
real and fit it for heaven. How infinitely more do we prize 
our intellectual faculties and endeavor to exert them in that 
befitting their nobility, after the contemplation of their awful 
wreck. How does all sorrow soften the asperities of our na- 
ture, and all mortality lead us to a preparation for our own 



22 

departure. Oli ! affliction is ever sent in mercy ; far from be- 
ing the enemy of our moral nature, she is its noblest, truest 
friend ; she is sent to purify our souls, to make them fit inha- 
bitants for the heavenly kingdom. 

God, as an Eternal Being breathing his power, presence 
and glory throughout the universe, inspires awe and rever- 
ence, but a God infinite in benevolence, awakens the soul's 
richest affections and draws it nearer to its primeval source. 
A benevolent man affords a theme worthy of noblest intellect; 
but a benevolent God demands 

" An angel's lyre, 

Language of light and sentiment of fire." 



BY MISS SARAH M. MEIGS, 



OF ALBANY, K. Y. 



JOURNEYINGS OF THE WIND. 

Spirit of the wind ! thou wondrous being of the upper world ! 
whose presence is every where felt, yet whom we may not 
see ! impart to me thy secrets, tell what thou art ? — whence 
thou earnest ?— thy dwelling place ? — thine office ? — and where 
have been thy journeyings ? And the gentle zephyr answer- 
ed, " Mortal, it is not thine to knoAv all things thou hast asked 
of me, but this I may reveal. I am the messenger of Heaven, 
to distribute among men both good and evil, blessing and 
curse. I roam through every clime, on wing swifter than the 
soaring eagle— now on the summit of a lofty mountain, and 
now in the depths of a low valley. My dwelling place is the 
vast globe, the north and south, the sea and land. My age is 
that of Time. When the first blissful pair were placed in 
Paradise, I was in being. When the angels, as messengers 
of love, came to visit the favored ones, I bore them upon my 
wings as in a chariot. I sometimes fanned the cheek of Eve, 
and murmured through the shady groves, vieing with the songs 
of the sweet warblers, and producing music pleasant to her 
ear. And although man fell from his pure innocence, yet I 
did not forsake him ; when he returned from his labor, I 
sought him out, and cooled his burning brow, and gently fan- 
ned him in his rest. 

I have been sent by the Father of all good on innumerable 
errands of love. 

When all around is still, I bear to the mariner sweet music 
from the far off coast. I waft to him the fragrance of the dis* 



24 

tant shore, and it recalls to him thoughts of his home, of the 
loved and absent. 

When the noon-day sun has been pouring his scorching rays 
upon the earth, till herb and beast and man seem ready to 
droop and die, then I come with my invigorating breath, and 
impart to them new life and energy. 

I visit the inhabitant of the sunny South. I spread my 
wings to refresh him* I gather the aroma from the orange 
groves, and gently waft it onward till the whole air is filled 
with fragrance. 

I visit the bed-side of the dying. I soothe his sufferings ; 
cool his fever-heated brow, and bear to him the voices of 
sainted friends, who call him from this scene of sorrow and of 
care ; or the songs of the bright angels, in praise of their 
Eedeemer ; and, as the sweet tones fall upon his ear, his coun- 
tenance is irradiated with the heavenly joy ; he gently mur- 
murs, I come — I come j and his spirit flies to the realms of 
bliss. But I yet hover around his pillow — kiss his cold lips — 
gently stir his moistened locks, and whisper to the weeping 
group sweet consolation. They listen with deep attention, and 
imagine the spirit of the departed speaks to them. And when 
the dead is placed in his narrow house, when he is committed 
to the tomb, I linger o^er his resting-place, and amid the dark 
foliage of the cypress and the willow, I sadly chant his dirge. 

I guide the proud ship through the mighty waters, gently 
propelling it onwards. I fill its white sails and direct it to the 
desired haven. 

The Being whom I serve is not only a God of mercy and of 
love, but he is a just and an avenging God. Those who obey 
his precepts and trust in his love, live in the light of his smiles. 
Upon the disobedient and sinful, his vials of fierce wrath are 
poured out. It is given to me to dispense his bounties, but I 
too must be the minister of his vengeance. 

I pass a busy city,- — its inhabitants, unconscious of lurking 
danger, are pursuing their various occupations — when all un- 
warning I come upon them in my strength. I overthrow their 
proud habitations, and their works of art ; they seek for safety 
in flight, but wherever they direct their steps destruction fol- 



26 

lows ; by land there is no escape, and none by sea. They 
tremble and acknowledge I am God's messenger of wrath. 

I look upon the gallant ship and her brave crew, and she is 
tossed upon the midnight wave. I tear her sails, lay low her 
strong mast, and make the sailors mad with fear. Some hold 
fierce revels to forget the presence of Death, which rides upon 
the black waves — others sit in mute despair, or in frenzy, invoke 
the assistance of insulted heaven. 

In the dreary desert, the wearied traveller hastens to the 
cooling stream. I breathe upon him, and he smiles a kindly 
welcome. I redouble my power — I gather the dry sands of 
the desert and raise them like the waves of the ocean — I drive 
the deadly simoom upon him, he bends low, and hopes to es- 
cape — vain hope ! — the scourge of the desert makes him his 
prey. 

I am the instrument of his vengeance when He sendeth the 
pestilence abroad. I respect neither age nor station. The 
infirm and the beautiful alike wither at my presence. I enter 
the habitations of royalty — I poison the goblet, and mingle 
deadly odors with the costly incense. I visit the lowly hovel, 
and the peasant gasps and dies. They, who seek in the caves 
of the earth to elude my vigilance, are forced to bow low be- 
fore me. In the court, and in the camp, all pass away. I 
cease not my work till I have accomplished the purpose of 
Him whose minister I am. 

My whole existence is devoted to my Maker. I obey, and 
question not, — and oh ! that proud man might learn — 

" His holy counsel to fulfil, 
To suffer all his righteous will, 
And to the end endure." 



BY MISS RACHAEL RAMSAY, 



OF ALBANY, N. Y. 



THE FEELINGS OF THE ORPHAN. 

No sound breaks the silence of the hour of death ; no mur- 
muring word escapes the lips of her who soon must feel a mo- 
ther's loss. But her countenance bespeaks that which words 
cannot express — it discloses the anguish of the heart though 
she would fain conceal it. The tender vine which had clasp- 
ed its tendrils each day with renewed force around the moth- 
er tree, was now separated from it ; for death's withering hand 
touched the parent stem and it perished, leaving the vine to 
bear the rude storm alone. No friendly footstep is heard : no 
kindly hand leads her from the scene of woe ; no soothing 
voice administers consolation. In the ignorance of her youth- 
ful heart she watches with increased anxiety for that smile and 
embrace which she always enjoyed; for hope is an impulse 
which the youthful heart ever cherishes. She is not aware 
that the loved form before her is but a mass of lifeless clay, 
the spirit of which God has claimed. She gazes upon it with 
mingled fear and hope. But ah ! she will never again hear 
from those lips their wonted instructions; never again will she 
frolic in childish glee by the side of her indulgent parent and 
pour into her ear the overflowings of her innocent heart. She 
entreats for one consoling word to sooth her swelling heart and 
quell its rising fears. But in vain. As she approaches the 
bedside, dread forebodings seize her mind and she shrinks 
from the freezing touch of a mother's corpse. Her eyes are 
opened to the truth. She is now aware that she is alone and 
unprotected. A dark scene of misery is unfolded to her in 



27 

the future. She endeavors by childish amusements to dispel 
her sad feelings ; each little treasure she unfolds, but to no 
purpose, for they only remind her of her bereavement. Not 
even the soft tones of brotherly affection can afford her conso- 
lation. She thinks but of the past, of her mother's dying pray- 
er, of her parting blessing, and her last fond look. To the 
grave she hastens and entreats into its bosom to be admitted, 
to lie down in peace beside the cold form of her mother. And 
in her grief she vows that neither voice nor smile, however 
sweet, shall tempt her to leave the spot where all that was 
dear to her lies buried. But she finds, though in the deepest 
misery, God is still mindful of his creatures, for the messenger 
of love is nigh, whose outstretched arm offers relief, and whose 
cheering voice draws her from her lonely seat. And while 
she relates each little woe with plaintive voice to her deliverer, 
her tears are mingled with those of the messenger of love. 
As she listens to his admonitions, a gleam of hope illumines 
her pale countenance, and she inwardly exclaims " God has in- 
deed taken me up." And now bright prospects open before 
her : gratitude claims and possesses a prominent seat in her 
heart. Friends lend an influence to promote her happiness 
and will ever be loved and warmly cherished by her : yet with 
the remembrance of those, a lovely image seems to hover 
about her and she loves to dwell upon that form, though long 
unseen, for filial love is that which God has planted in each 
heart and commands us faithfully to preserve. Wherever she 
goes her mother seems to watch over her, and she delights in 
the thought, that, though unseen she is still present. And 
may not that which causes even the blind to rejoice, and de- 
prives death of its cruel sting, prove of infinite value to the 
Orphan ? It may. The rugged path of misfortune is over- 
looked, and she thinks only of the bright prospect which reli- 
gion has opened to her. Happy is she who, though a prey to 
sorrow, looks to religion for support ! 



